


Falling Snow

by Echo (Lyrecho)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, M/M, Oneshot, Secret Santa, giftfic, headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 02:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13136901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrecho/pseuds/Echo
Summary: Akira and Goro spend some time in the snow, and maybe talk about some things they've been avoiding.For the 2017 Shuake Secret Santa|Tumblr||Twitter|





	Falling Snow

**Author's Note:**

> this is my 50th work on this site
> 
> nice
> 
>  
> 
> Merry Christmas!!!

"I've never understood," Goro began, "why people call snow _fluffy_."

Not looking up from his phone, Akira raised a brow. "Well, what would you call it?"

Goro made a sound he could only call a huff, and Akira felt his bed sink under his boyfriend's weight as he flopped down onto the mattress. "Slush," he said. "Wet. Cold. Decidedly _not_ fluffy."

Akira snorted, and turned off his phone's screen. "You have this way of just looking at everything so negatively," he said. "Makes me wonder how you ever got popular with the public - even acting so happy, surely people could tell that you were lying?"

"Most people aren't as observant as you, Akira," Goro pointed out. "And besides, I had good hair."

"You had great hair," Akira agreed, and leant forward to tug on his boyfriend's ponytail. "I do like it more now, though. It looks good long."

A fierce red blush painted Goro's cheeks, and Akira refrained from pointing it out even as he grinned, knowing that it would just be denied if he tried to.

"Well, how would _you_ describe snow?" Goro asked, a certain desperation in his tone just proving in Akira's mind that he was trying to change the subject.

Akira grinned, bright and hungry. "Fluffy," he said.

Goro groaned and rolled away from him, a scoff of disgust caught in his throat. "I swear, you live just to spite me," he said, and Akira laughed.

"No, I dragged you back to life just to spite _me_ ," he corrected. "It's more than worked so far."

Goro snorted. "Ah," he said. "I'd been wondering why. Makes sense that you're just some sort of glutton for punishment."

There was something dark in Goro's eyes as he spoke, something hollow and spiraling that Akira couldn't stand to look at, so he simply hummed a gentle, non-committal sound. "If it's a punishment involving _you_ , sure," he said softly, and it wasn't fully a lie - part of the reason Goro was staying with Akira in his small town, despite his parent's uncertainty, was because of his incognito 'public service' sentence. Once Akira had dragged him, delirious and half-dead from the remains of the cognitive world, with the eager if uncertain help of Lavenza, all that had remained was the question of what, exactly, to do with him. They couldn't just hand him over to the police - not just the thieves, but Sojiro and Sae, had agreed with him on that one - but they couldn't just let him go free, either. In the end, the fact remained: Goro Akechi was a killer, and he had to face justice for his crimes.

Futaba and Haru had been the ones to find the answer, with some help from Sojiro. Haru had pointed out that she had connections to families that could have Goro doing penance with his identity hidden, and Futaba had taken it upon herself to scope them out. It was at that time that she'd encountered something completely unexpected - one of the groups she was watching, watching them right back.

 _The Kirijo Corporation_ , Soijiro had hummed. _I've heard they've been up to shady stuff for decades. They're a private company, technically, but it's an open secret that they've got a grip on the government._

After that, deciding whether or not to contact this group had been pretty much taken out of their hands - a group linked to the Kirijo Corp. calling themselves the Shadow Ops had turned up at Leblanc, asking after the whereabouts of Goro Akechi.

Goro had handed himself over readily enough - as quiet and docile as he had been since he'd realised he was still alive. They would have fought for him - had still tried to - but he'd stopped them as he walked out the door. Alone in his hometown, Akira had only gotten the news later, second hand, with a cold knot of dread solidifying in his stomach. He'd been scared that he'd never get to see Goro Akechi again, when he'd barely even seen him since saving his life - never gotten a chance to get to know the real him.

And then Mitsuru Kirijo had called him, and said that she was sending her newest recruit to his house for the New Year period - _Wild Cards tend to attract trouble around then,_ she'd said, her voice a mix of exasperated and fond. _It'll be easier to keep track of the two of you if you're together._

Slightly spooked by both the blunt authority in her voice and the fact that she'd just so casually called him up after using likely less than legal means to track down his number, he hadn't even managed to voice the slightest protest.

And then Goro Akechi had turned up on his doorstep, his hair cut short and his eyes just as hollow as they had been the last time Akira had seen him, before he'd been shuffled home and Akechi had been shuffled to...wherever it was the Shadow Operatives had taken him.

That had been...almost a year ago exactly, now. During his stay, Akechi had slowly transitioned firmly into 'Goro' - and over the past year, they had stayed in touch as Goro worked alongside the Kirijo and the Shadow Ops as his penance.

The change from 'enemies' to 'allies' and then from there to 'friends,' and then 'boyfriends,' was a slow one. As it was, this was the first time Akira had seen Goro in person since they'd actually started dating, and he was pretty sure neither of them were actually sure on how the hell to do this 'dating' thing. At least he _hoped_ Goro was as clueless as he was - he didn't like being the one behind the curve.

Goro's laugh was more than slightly bitter. "A good thing, then," he said quietly, "that most of your suffering these past few years has come from _my_ hands."

Akira rolled his eyes. "Oh no, you're my own personal big bad villain," he said. "You make my life _so hard_." He grinned expectantly at Goro, who stared down at him with a faint sneer.

"If that was a crude joke," he said delicately. "I am not laughing."

"Well, I don't tell my jokes for your benefit," Akira said. "I already know your sense of humor is too steeped in irony to ever appreciate anything but bitter sarcasm." A sigh. "Ryuji would laugh at my dick jokes."

"Well, if you'd rather be spending time with Sakamoto than me..." Goro trailed off. "Please, feel free to catch the next train to Tokyo. I'll be fine here. Your parents like me more than they like you, anyway."

"They just like that you apparently 'keep me in line,'" Akira said. "Little do they know."

"Little do they know," Goro agreed, the ghost of what maybe, one day, could grow to be a smile, flitting across his lips.

Akira felt his own expression soften considerably, and looked at Goro with an almost unbearable fondness. Sometimes, it hurt just to be around him – but not in a bad way; more like his chest was just filled with so much emotion that he didn’t know how to register or contain it. “Hey,” he said softly, wanting more than anything to chase away the last of those hollow shadows in Goro’s eyes. “I’ve got an idea.”

An expression of pure horror crossed Goro’s face, and Akira hoped that it was mere mocking. Surely, he deserved a _little_ more faith than that.

“Hey,” he said, offence in his tone that was just as teasing as his boyfriend’s horror (probably) was. “It’s a _good_ idea.”

“Define ‘good’ for me, please,” Goro said. “I’m not sure your perspective of the word exists on the same plane of existence as it does for the rest of us.”

Akira snorted, amused despite himself. “Okay, forget good,” he said. “Do you _trust_ me?”

Goro narrowed his eyes at him. “Marginally,” he allowed. “At times.”

“Harsh,” Akira said, “but I’ll take it.” He stood up from his bed, and held out his hand. “Here, up you get. Come with me.”

Goro just raised an eyebrow at the offered hand, looking entirely unimpressed as he looked Akira up and down. This time, the offence that crossed Akira’s face wasn’t feigned in the slightest.

Goro laughed – and a proper laugh, out loud and everything. Akira felt stunned, and knocked slightly off balance, like Ryuji had just slammed the end of a pipe upside his head. _Critical hit_ , he thought numbly. _Massive Damage._

Futaba would have been proud.

“Fine,” Goro said, and slipped his hand into Akira’s, entwining their fingers. His skin was rough from work, and a little dry, but very warm. It was a comforting link, and Akira knew the smile on his face in that moment had to have been stupidly large. “You big, whining baby. If it makes you stop pouting like that, I’ll ‘trust’ you.”

“An honour, I’m sure,” Akira said dryly, and tugged his boyfriend to his feet. Once standing, Goro tugged on his hand, a silent question for Akira to let him go. After staring at him for a moment, expression politely questioning, Akira gaged that he wouldn’t get yelled at if he kept a hold of his hand for a little longer. “You’ll need to be dressed a little warmer than that,” he said, and led them to the other side of his room, pulling open his closet. “Here, you can borrow one of my jackets.”

“…thanks?” Goro said, uncertainty in his tone. “Wait – are you taking me outside?”

“Time to get fluffy, Goro,” Akira said cheerfully, ignoring the scowl being drilled into the side of his head.

“ _Slushy_ ,” he insisted. “Wet. Cold.”

“ _Fluffy_.”

“I’m not arguing this with you,” Goro said. “Your ability to find amusement in the most inane of things will never fail to astound me.”

Ignoring the second part of that statement, Akira nodded firmly. “Good,” he said. “There’s no point in arguing, since I’m _right_.”

Goro rolled his eyes. “As you always are, I suppose,” he sighed. “Fine. But you’re giving me your best jacket.”

“Who’s the baby now?” Akira asked, but handed over the jacket without complaint, finally letting go of Goro’s hand with some reluctance.

“The answer to that question, always and eternally, will be you, Akira,” Goro said, and shrugged the jacket on. The red of it seemed even brighter against his skin, the ends of his hair brushing the collar, and he looked warm in more ways than one.

(Akira kind of wanted to cuddle him – but, no. They had other plans right now. Maybe later.)

“Are you done?” He asked, and Goro simply stared at him.

“What about a beanie?” He asked. “A scarf? Anything?”

“Ah, good point,” Akira said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

If Goro rolled his eyes any harder, all that would be left visible were the whites. Akira stuck his tongue out in response.

“There’ll be stuff downstairs, on the hooks by the doors,” he said, and reached for Goro’s hand once more, leading him out of the room and down the stairs.

Goro’s fingers entwined between his were warm, and Akira privately mourned that he would lose this touch once Goro put on a pair of gloves – but he supposed that in the end that would be better than his boyfriend getting frostbitten hands, maybe.

Once they were downstairs, Akira detoured to let his parents know they were going outside for a while, whereas Goro went straight for the hooks and the coats placed by the front door. By the time Akira makes his way back to him, he’s already looped Akira’s own red scarf around his neck and is tugging on the matching gloves. He’s a bright beacon of red, and Akira’s nearly positive that he’ll glow against the bright white of the snow outside.

He’s smiling at the mental image, even as he sends a quick scowl Goro’s way for taking his clothes away from him.

Goro looks as smug as Morgana ever does. “ _Baby_ ,” he reiterates. “Just wear your dad’s stuff.”

Akira screws his nose up. “His stuff isn’t my colour – no thanks.” He reaches instead for the deep royal purple of his mother’s set. “This one suits me more, don’t you think?”

Goro snorts. “If you want my honest opinion, I think you could pull off a burlap sack, but the purple _would_ bring out your eyes, and be more practical for snow, besides.”

Akira blinks, and graciously decides to ignore the first part of that, even as he’s flattered and slides the knowledge away for later. “My eyes are gray,” he points out. “What, exactly, is the purple bringing out?”

Goro leans in close, and Akira stills. He can feel the warmth radiating from him, and he swallows. “Grey, huh?” He murmurs, and lifts up a hand to skim along Akira’s jaw, angling his face so that their eyes are locked. The yarn of the glove he wore should have been scratchy, but all Akira felt was warmth. “They look silver to me.”

Akira’s breath catches in his throat, but just as he moves closer, Goro moves away, that smirk still on his face.

Akira feels more than a little slighted, but the curl to his boyfriend’s lips is a promise for later that has anticipation overclouding his dissatisfaction.

“Are we going, then?” Goro’s voice and tone is deliberately light and airy, and Akira rolls his eyes because it’s totally obvious that he knows exactly what he’s doing. “I thought you wanted to drag me out to the snow.”

“Drag you out to the trash where you belong,” Akira mutters, and shoves his boots on. He opens the door, and a gust of icy wind blows through the doorway as he holds it open, and gestures for Goro to exit first.

He laughs, and all but _skips_ out the door. Akira sticks his tongue out at Goro’s back, and slips outside, shutting the door quickly behind him before his mother yells out something about him letting the cold in.

He turns, and for a moment, just stares. Goro’s stepped out of the doorway and off of the steps entirely – he now stands in the empty road, snowed over with pristine white (this late in the day, no one in Shinokawa is going to put out the effort to shovel the snow out of the way). It isn’t yet quite what Akira would consider evening, but the sun has already more than half set, and the world is tinged with grey.

Goro’s standing with his back to Akira, his head tilted back to the sky. It isn’t quite snowing at that point, but still bits of it have found their way to his hair and face. Akira walks forward, and reaches up a hand to brush the icy bits out of Goro’s hair.

“Hey,” he says gently, when Goro barely even looks his way. “What’s wrong?”

“They’re watching us,” Goro murmurs, lips barely moving, and turns so his head is pressed against Akira’s shoulder, cloth muffling his words. Akira knows that Goro is likely just being cautious – he wants whatever he’s saying to be private, for their ears only, but at the same time he can’t deny that there’s probably a desire for comfort there too. “Can’t you feel their eyes on us?”

Akira tilts his head so his cheek is pressed to Goro’s hair. “It can get a bit stifling, can’t it?” he says. “But they’re not going to do anything. They’re just watching.”

“When people look at you,” Goro says slowly, “you get used to their eyes feeling a certain way. Back – back then.” He falters. “I didn’t like people looking at me, but it didn’t _feel_ like it does now. And I know I brought that on myself, and I deserve their suspicion, their distrust, all their hatred and disgust – but I can’t help that it doesn’t feel…good.”

For a moment, Akira is silent. He can’t deny Goro’s words, not truthfully – and not only would the lie taste bad in his mouth, but he knows Goro well enough to know that he wouldn’t forgive Akira trying to lessen his guilt by enabling a lie.

“You’ve earned their suspicion,” he says finally. “But you don’t necessarily _deserve_ any of that. You’re working with them to fix things, right?” He breathes deep.

“And what?” Goro asks. “That makes it all better?” His tone is sharp and bitter, meant to cut, meant to sting – not Akira, but himself.

“No, of course not.” Akira sighs. “Neither Haru or Futaba have forgiven you, you know? And they might not ever. If that’s what they decide, that’s fair. They don’t need to forgive you. They don’t need to like you. You earned that. But…they’re the ones that put so much effort into finding you a place to go, you know? Even if they’re mad, and hate you for what you’ve done – they never thought you deserved what ended up happening to you.” He pulls away, and nudges Goro to look up at him. “They thought you deserved a chance to earn your redemption, and Kirijo-san must have agreed, or else she wouldn’t have taken you into the Shadow Ops.” He reaches up a hand to cup Goro’s face. “No one thinks you deserve to be damned like you yourself do, you know?”

Goro pulls away from his touch to bury his face once more in Akira’s shoulder. His scarf is askew now, and he can feel his warm breath coming in pants against his neck. He laughs, weakly, his voice sounding wet. “Do you ever get tired of sounding like a motivational speaker, Akira?”

“It’s my one true calling, actually,” Akira says. “I think I could make millions out of it – don’t you?”

“If it doesn’t pan out there’s always underwear modelling,” he says. “I’m sure Ann could get you an in.”

Akira squints. “I like how your mind jumps straight to underwear modelling, instead of just the regular clothed kind.”

“If I have to see you on a magazine you had better be half naked,” Goro grumbles, and the air around them seems to lighten. It’s something Goro does well – deflect around talking through things like this. For now, Akira leaves it be, even if he doesn’t think it’s the best thing to do. He can’t exactly _force_ Goro to talk to him about it – if anything that will just make everything worse.

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” he says, and steps away from Goro, who frowns at him, watching him crouch down with a disgruntled sort of bewilderment on his face.

That bewilderment disappears a second later, covered over by snow – snow that Akira has thrown into his face.

He splutters, and Akira laughs. “I’ve bested you yet again,” he says, and Goro glares at him as he scrapes snow off of his skin.

“Not yet,” he snaps. “If it’s a fight you want, it’s a fight you’ll get. I’ll _drown_ you in this _slush_.”

Solemnly, Akira holds up both hands to show that he’s armed, dangerous, and _ready_. “Bring it,” he says. “I’ll take you on anytime.”

Laughing, Goro lunges for him. “I’m gonna hold you to that,” he says. “Prepare to _lose._ ”

The smile that comes automatically onto Akira’s face is almost unbearably fond. “Oh, please,” he says. “I’m _always_ the winner when it comes to you.”


End file.
